Page 95 of The Bleak Beginning

His eyes flash. “You don’t fit here, Prescott. You’re an outsider, a reminder of everything that went wrong. Your very existence is a threat to the delicate balance we’ve worked to maintain.”

“What do you want from me, then? Do you expect me to just pack up and leave? Because that’s not happening, so why can’t you just pretend I don’t exist for the next few years?”

He takes a step closer, closing the distance I’d tried to create.

“Pretend you don’t exist?” Bishop’s voice is low, almost a growl. “That’s not how this works. You can’t just waltz in here and expect me to ignore you. How would that reflect on me? I would look weak. Pathetic…just like you.”

I instinctively try to take another step back, but I find myself pressed against the unforgiving wall of the building. Bishop places his hands on either side of my head, effectively trapping me between his strong arms and the unyielding surface behind me. My heart races as the heat from his body radiates toward mine, creating an intimate cocoon between us.

“The Legacy families have rules, traditions,” he continues, his face inches from mine. “And whether you like it or not, your father betrayed them all. So, no. You can’t escape them. You can’t escape us. Escapeme.”

I feel this thing—whatever it was—pulsing between us. He despises me, loathes every fiber of my being for the actions of my father and how they impacted him and the other Legacies.

And yet…

I can’t tell if I want him to back off or if I want him to close the gap completely.

His gaze locks onto mine, a challenge in his eyes, daring me to be bold. I feel the heat rising between us, suffocating and undeniable. My heart races, but I don’t step back. Instead, I force myself to meet him head-on.

“And what if I don’t want to?” I say, my voice trembling but defiant. “What if I don’t want to escape you?” I whisper thewords, barely a breath between us, and I feel them settle in the charged space between us like a spark ready to ignite.

His breath hitches for just a moment, and I see it—the crack in his mask. It’s fleeting, but it's there. His eyes flicker down to my lips, then back up, a mixture of anger and something... else... swirling beneath the surface. The tension between us thickens, almost suffocating.

“What do you want then?” he asks, his voice barely more than a low rasp, the desperation leaking through his words. “Right now, what do you want, Prescott?”

The question hangs in the air like a dare. I can almost feel the tug of it, pulling me closer, making it harder to remember everything that’s been between us—the hatred, the past, the family ties that bind us in this impossible tension.

I swallow, my mind spinning, my pulse loud in my chest.

He leans in slightly, his breath mingling with mine, and I feel that pull again. He’s close enough now that I could feel the heat of his skin, the hardness of his body, and the raw intensity radiating from him. For one heartbeat, I almost think he’s going to kiss me, and I’d be lying if I said I’d refuse him.

“Words, Prescott. Use your words,” he growls, his voice rough, almost pleading, but there's no mistaking the force behind it. It's a demand, as if he's trying to control whatever is happening between us.

I can feel his hesitation, his struggle. It’s there, just under the surface. He’s holding back—but for how much longer?

“Tell me what you need, troublemaker.” His voice is strained, the words clipped, but beneath them, I can hear frustration—like he’s barely holding on. His forehead brushes against mine, and I feel his breath quicken, his chest rising and falling with the weight of whatever battle rages inside him. The same battle is happening inside of me, too.

I release a shaky breath, my mouth parting in the silence between us. His eyes darken as they flicker to my lips, and I catch the subtle twitch of his mouth—like he’s frustrated by my hesitation, like he’s desperate.

But Bishop doesn’t want me like that. He’s made it clear from the start where we stand.

But...

It’s how he’s looking at me now, like I hold all the cards, and he hates that—thatis what has me confused. Bishop doesn’t want to kiss me. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Could he?

The seconds stretch on endlessly, an urgent need pulsing between my thighs the longer we stay like this. His penetrating gaze lingers on me, studying me with a hunger that makes my body ache.

His gaze flickers down to my lips again, and I swear I can feel him resisting the urge to close that last inch of space between us. But then, with a sharp intake of breath, he pulls back—just a fraction—but enough to break the spell.

Without warning, he violently grabs the paper I’d completely forgotten was still in my hand. His gaze shifts off me and darts over the map only long enough to see what he’s looking at. “This map is incorrect. The new natatorium was built here last year,” he says, pointing to a speck on the map.

I can only nod in response, too overwhelmed by everything that’s happening. His anger. His closeness. His presence towering over me, making me feel small and helpless. And then there’s learning about the betrayal of my family, twisting like a knife in my chest.

He finally shoves himself off the wall, setting me free from the cage of his overpowering presence.

“The Legacy families have long memories, and we don’t forgive easily. Or in your case. Ever,” he concludes before storming off into the shadows where he belongs.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m just asking to be left alone,” I holler back, regardless if he can hear me or not. But deep down, I can’t help but wonder why our encounter felt like it ended too soon. The lingering electricity between us only adds to the confusion and intensity of this bizarre moment. My only desire when I agreed to attend this university was to graduate, but now it was to escape from this world of tradition and Legacy families. But with Bishop Ashbourne forcing his way inside my every space, that may never be possible.

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